An ode to old age
There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by,
And life doesn't begin at 40. That's a big fat lie.
My hair's getting thinner, my body is not;
The few teeth I have are beginning to rot.

I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past, every detail I'll know,
But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?

Well, you get the idea, what more can I say?
I'm off to read the obituary, like I do every day;
If my names not there, I'll once again start -
Perfecting the art of falling apart

Can you pay the bill?
A man was brought to the hospital, and taken quickly in for emergency surgery. The operation went well, and as the groggy man regained consciousness, he was reassured by a Sister of Mercy, who was waiting by his bed.

"Mr. Smith, you're going to be just fine," said the nun, gently patting his hand. "We do need to know, however, how you intend to pay for your stay here. Are you covered by insurance?"

"No, I'm not," the man whispered hoarsely.
"Can you pay in cash?" persisted the nun.
"I'm afraid I cannot, Sister."
"Well, do you have any close relatives?" the nun essayed.
"Just my sister in New York," he volunteered. "But she's a spinster nun."

"Oh, I must correct you, Mr. Smith. Nuns are not 'spinsters;' they are married to God."

"Really...wonderful," said Smith. "In that case, you can send the bill to my brother-in-law!